


A Little Less Ruthless

by subplotter



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, F/M, Face Slapping, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3150797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subplotter/pseuds/subplotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke catches a private moment between Murphy and Bellamy and gets inspired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Less Ruthless

It had started when Clarke had walked in on something. And she had promptly tried to erase the image from her memory as she let the flap to Bellamy's tent fall, but it seemed burned there, hot and wet and blood-slick, because God, what she'd seen between Bellamy and Murphy had not been gentle. She sort of froze out there, heart beating hard against her ears, a step or two from Bellamy's tent. Her eyes were wide as she stared at nothing, as she tried to decide based on very little evidence if either one of them had seen her. It was impossible to tell.

But later, when Bellamy approached her, she knew the answer to that. It was a stilted conversation. He conveyed to her in clipped speech that she ought not to tell anyone, that this was just Bellamy's way of controlling Murphy, of keeping him happy and a little less ruthless. Clarke didn't understand. Or maybe she did, deep in her stomach somehwere, but Murphy did not need violence. Murphy was violence all on his own. Murphy, who made Clarke uncomfortable in her gut, felt like a lost cause, but maybe he wasn't.

"You should be gentler with him," she said, but Bellamy only laughed.

"Yeah, I don't think so."

So she felt her attitude changing toward Murphy a bit. When she saw him with blood on him, she began to take him aside, give him the sort of simple medical attention that was so often not prioritized with everything else going on. It was peaceful for her, a sort of meditative thing. Murphy seemed off-put at first; he tensed under her fingers and kept his gaze a little wide, a little startled, like he was sure she had some sort of ulterior motive.

Maybe she did. She didn't let herself think about it too hard. This was not a life or death situation--this was some stupid, frivolous thing to think about when everything else was tearing her apart. But her touches became more and more intimate. She'd press a bandage down with one finger and touch a bruise at Murphy's jaw with the other, soft, clean fingertips stroking over his dirty skin. She'd pull his shirt up under the pretense of examining him only to find bite marks, more bruises.

"Did Bellamy give these to you?"

When she mentioned Bellamy for the first time, Murphy seemed to grow fearful, his hand forcing down the fabric of his shirt, covering it all up, shoving her hand away from his skin. "That's none of your business."

Clarke pursed her lips. "Sorry. Just let me..." And she went to pull his shirt up again, touching a thumb pad to the most vicious of the bite marks, peeking out from the band of his pants at his hip bone.

"Clarke..."

"Murphy," she said, a touch sternly. "If you really want to stop all this, you just have to say so. But I know how Bellamy can be. He has good intentions, but he's...a little rough."

Murphy's stomach muscles twitched under Clarke's fingers now as she slid them up, the lightest touch she could manage. He was sitting on one of the beds her mom had set up, and she was standing in front of him. There wasn't anybody in here right now. It was late. People were sleeping. Clarke wasn't stupid.

As her fingers slid up to his chest, Murphy leaned forward, grimy fingers holding Clarke's face as he pressed their lips together. But then he pulled back, focusing his eyes on hers, head ducked and blue irises slid upward.

"Princess," he said slowly. "I don't think we should do this without Bellamy."

Clarke furrowed her brows and hardened her eyes at the same time. She had never liked it when anybody but Finn or Bellamy had called her that, but now she didn't want anyone saying it at all. Plus suddenly Murphy had this cocky air about him, like he'd all at once realized why Clarke had been taking him here at night.

"Don't touch me," she said, beginning to put away her supplies. Gauze, small scissors, tape.

The cockiness seemed to drop off Murphy's shoulders and disappear into the ground. "Hey," he said. "I just don't want to make him mad. I'll talk to him."

"No need."

"We could get him right now. I bet he's awake."

Clarke shook her head. She closed the plastic box the supplies went inside of, snapping it shut. "I just wanted to be nice to you. I don't get to be nice anymore. Everything's for the good of the group."

Murphy sighed heavily, his fingers clenching around the edge of the cot. "Did I do something?"

Clarke scoffed through her nose. "No," she said icily. "You're just being yourself."

Murphy slid off the cot as soon as the words left her lips. He gave her an angry look, but there was pain behind it. "You think you're so gentle. Bellamy's never mean to me."

"Right."

"He's not. It feels good. And it feels good when you patch me up." He swallowed, crossing his arms as Clarke put the box back, sliding it into its spot near the cot. She could see him moving in her peripheral, could see the roll of his throat.

"What are you still doing here?" she said.

"Stop being a bitch."

At the words, she looked up, scoffing now through an open mouth, brows and gaze twisted with offended surprise. Sometimes Murphy came off like a wounded child, but sometimes he was danger and soot.

Murphy looked right back at her, only raising his brows, seeming to emphasize his point. He was no longer wounded. She didn't like that.

With that the only real thought in her head, she reached out and hit Murphy hard on the cheek with the back of her hand, hitting the side of his face that wasn't bruised.

With a sharp intake of breath, he touched at his cheek with his hand. The skin bloomed red.

Clarke smirked, satisfied. "Talk to Bellamy," she said. "See what he says."

Murphy nodded, glancing up at her, but his stance was different now. He was ducked down, like he was preparing for another hit. "Yes, Princess," he said. When he said it like that, it felt a little less cruel.

**Author's Note:**

> what even is this
> 
> Talk to me on [tumblr](http://somebodysmonster.tumblr.com) maybe?


End file.
